A small child runs in. He smiles as he picks up his wooden building blocks, and carefully arranges them together. His dark brown eyes tightly focusing on the chunky brown blocks. Below him he feels the soft whitish brownish rub below him.
“Phil, dinner’s ready,” his mother exclaims.
“Yes, Mom.”
His parents walk in and kiss his pale forehead. Curly short brown hair covers his mother’s scalp like a winter hat. While his father’s huge glasses cover most of his face. The little boy takes one last glance at the room. The white walls reflecting sunlight off them. He sees the pearl white radiator starting to reveal dark brown splotches.
Many years later the room occupies another child, except it’s now a girl. Her white blonde hair barely can be seen through her little pink hat. She’s being held in her mother’s arms while searching the now yellowing white room.
“Phil, she’s so beautiful,” says the infant’s grandmother.
“I know, she’s amazing,” Phil responds.
The baby looks at her grandfather, his hair starting to gray, and his face starting to reveal what looks like little cracks. Now she looks around the room. Tan, brown wood is starting to peek through the white walls. The ceiling fan spins around slowly, but picks up within a couple minutes. The fan with its pieces of gold on the end of it twirls around and around as the girl tries to keep up.
Years go by. The same girl hides behind the rusty white wall, except now she’s a preschooler. Her sombrero on top of her head she shows her grandparents with a great big smile on her face. Her grandfather starts laughing as she runs around the room, her dirty blonde hair lagging behind her. She feels two big arms wrap around her stomach. She looks up lovingly at an old face she would know anywhere. She collapses onto the fading brown rug as she looks up at the cracking white ceiling.
A few more years go by. The little girl has grown up so fast. The little things that made her look younger have disappeared. The dirty blonde hair is still there but as the young boy, grandfather, and room age, so has she. As her father and grandmother go to the other room the girl stays in the room that room grew up in, the room that her father grew up in, the room where her grandfather had taken his last breaths in. She slowly goes down to kneel on the same carpet she has always known. For some reason, the room feels different. It’s almost as if the room was mourning with her. She sits in her grandfather’s favorite chair, and thinks back to all the memories they had in this room. Tears dot her face as she sees the hospital bed he had to sleep in. She can still can feel him in his bed, in his chair, in their favorite room with her. She walks around the withered room. She remembers him watching cartoons with her on that flat screen. On the night black stand she sees the pictures of them together that she can never forget. As she reaches out her hand to the picture of her in her little sombrero, her grandfather in the background she dusts off the old picture. Tears stream out of her eyes, as she says goodbye to the room…Forever.